


so come on read my will

by tanyart



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: (But still enemies), Enemies to Lovers, Fighting Kink, M/M, Prompt Fic, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-09-14 11:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Drifter makes a bet with himself; Shin Malphur's never going to kill him. Still doesn't mean a thing though.





	so come on read my will

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Bully by Black Pistol Fire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xmF2Den_nv0).

The feel of the Last Word’s barrel end is starting to become familiar. Drifter has it pressed between his eyes. He stares past the burning metal and rolls them. 

Shin flashes that infamous gun so often it’s starting to lose it’s shine. It still makes Drifter’s fingers itch for Malfeasance though, not that he could ever draw it quick enough, even with Shin’s back turned. He’s tried before — more on a whim than actual intent to kill. Shin beats him every time, but each of those times Drifter learns something new. 

Drifter opens his mouth, lips still bloody from where Shin had bitten him. Simple, easy move. He gets to see Shin’s dark gaze flicker down, distracted for that quick moment it takes for Drifter to draw out his own sidearm.

He gets as far as putting pressure on the trigger before Shin crooks the Last Word, just the smallest twitch, and shoots through Drifter’s hand.

The smell of burnt flesh is nothing new to Drifter. Hell, he doesn’t even yell. A single fiery bullet from that Golden Gun doesn’t give Drifter the chance to bleed before it cauterizes the wound. He just drops the sidearm, letting it clatter to the floor with his teeth gritted, charred hole at his palm. 

Shin grabs his injured hand, twisting them around until he gets Drifter’s chest pressed against the wall. Drifter’s still-smoking palm is flat against the damp stone tiles to brace himself despite the pain, fingers splayed, and Shin’s hand goes sliding right over his. 

Drifter eyes it, breath getting trapped in his throat as Shin adds pressure, and Drifter’s burning skin hisses over the cold mosaic designs. He tries to exhale, but it comes out as a quiet snarl.

Even from behind, Shin still glows bright like the sun, blinding solar heat against Drifter’s back. He leans in, mouth to Drifter’s ear. “I oughta end you right now.”

And Drifter, pinned to the wall by the hand and that Golden Gun to his temple, smiles sharp like a knife. “Wish you would, brother.” 

Shin’s Light starts to dim, growing darker until the Golden Gun dissipates from his hand. The side of Drifter’s temple throbs from the afterburn, feeling like he’s been branded again by the gun.

Shin’s other hand is still over his on the wall, but his fingers curl in, just a little bit. His breath flits over the back of Drifter’s sweaty neck, blissfully cold compared to the hot solar energy from before.

“What makes you think I have that call?” Shin asks, sounding as sweet as Drifter has ever heard him. The calm in his voice is telling; means it’s out of his hands. That he’s got a deal with someone else.

Drifter tenses, hiding his whirlwind thoughts behind a few pained breaths. His hand is nothing but frayed tendons and nerves, fire shooting up his arm — but the thought of Shin Malphur under someone else’s thumb makes him shiver, tangling some restless emotion in him.

And Drifter’s not a jealous type of person, but he wants to know what it would take to hold something over Shin. Get that Golden Boy to check back his gun, like an angry dog on a straining leash. And suddenly he _wants_ — all that anger and blood and more of that scorching heat. 

“Ain’t killed me yet,” Drifter breathes, a little uneven, but he grins. “Starting to think you never will, even when that call comes.” He doesn’t bother asking for who’s call, knowing Shin’s not gonna spill any more than that.

Shin puts a thigh between Drifter’s legs, nudging upwards, testing the waters — because even Drifter is getting to get a little fuzzy on where things are standing now. He groans, rocking back over Shin’s thigh, and that’s all Shin needs to turn him back around.

“You think putting a bullet to your head is the worst I can do to you?” he says in a dangerous growl, pissed off and making his threats. Could probably charge up another Golden Gun, being that mad.

It only makes Drifter want to laugh, and he does. His fingers are shot dead, arm useless and going numb. Can’t feel a thing, and certainly not Shin’s hand still holding his. 

Shin’s gaze flickers at the sound, but maybe he’s too far gone to care at this point. He leans in, all teeth at Drifter’s throat. His thumb brushes across Drifter’s palm, above the bullet wound and getting sticky with residual ash and blistering skin. The way Shin has Drifter’s head tipped, it forces Drifter to watch how Shin doesn’t even notice his fingers lacing between his dead ones, cracking burnt metacarpal bones, and it hurts something good and satisfying. 

“Oh, I’m sure as fuck it isn’t,” Drifter replies, wanting to get in the last word and one more taunt, but his voice comes out just as angry, a thready undercurrent of bitterness.

He tears his gaze away from their hands, feeling reckless, and he knows it’s going to be the worst gamble he’ll ever set himself up for. 

“So why don’t you show me?”


End file.
